


Back in Black

by PseudoLeigha



Series: The Reasons Mary Potter Still Isn't Done (Works in Progress) [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Adopted by the Blacks, Alternate Universe - Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: This AU diverges from Mary Potter on 31 July 1994. Hermione is at the Department of Mysteries for a series of meetings regarding whether she will be allowed to keep the Time Turner after drastically overusing it all through the 1993/1994 school year, when she is mistaken for an intern or junior research assistant of some sort, and involved in a test of an artefact which sends her to 31 July 1976, the summer after the Marauders' fifth year. Due to her excessive time turning, Hermione is chronologically sixteen by this point as well (of course), and will (of course) end up attending the Marauders' sixth and seventh years with them. Before she gets that far, however, she runs into Sirius Black, and makes the (poorly considered) choice to attempt to get close to Bellatrix (the only researcher she knows of who is anywhere near a successful working theory of time travel) in order to see if she can get any hints about how to return to her own time period. Bellatrix (of course) immediately figures out that she is a time traveler or 'wandering star' and insists on adopting Hermione out of a combination of curiosity (about time travel and the future) and superstition (which precludes her just torturing the information out of her).





	Back in Black

**Author's Note:**

> By the end of the first chapter, Hermione is officially Maia Ankaa, daughter of Bellatrix Black, and kicking herself for not just going to the Potters' when Sirius initially offered to take her there.
> 
> I'm not entirely certain where this story is going, though I suspect that it may have a happier ending for everyone, because one of the first things Hermione (accidentally) does to change the timeline is reveal Tom's surname in front of Bellatrix, which is bound to lead to their having a Serious Talk about what he actually wants out of his Dark Revolution (which is not, actually, the ridiculously excessive war Bella has been escalating on his behalf). Yes. The war subsides into a chronic state of organized crime vs. the police instead of a gang war/civil war because the leadership of the Death Eaters actually sit down and discuss their goals amongst themselves.
> 
> Most of what's written so far is just the adoption, though. So yay more ritual magic, I guess xD

It's amazing, really, how fast one's life can change. All it takes is a single moment of confusion, a single lapse in judgement, and the whole world can turn on its axis.

Hermione Granger was no stranger to this effect.

Had she not felt it when Minerva McGonagall sat down for the first time on her parents' sofa, and told her about Hogwarts, or when Lizzie had agreed to come home with her for the first time, or when they had come so close to dying in the Forbidden Forest her first year? Had she not known it when she made the choice (encouraged by Lilian, but it was still her choice) to turn the Time Turner back to its fullest extent, and when she agreed to Snape's offer of guided reading? When she decided to attend her first Samhain ritual, and to take her future into her own hands by hiding the extent of the adventures she experienced at school? When her parents had found out about everything anyway, and decided to support her? The first time she let the twins kiss her? When her parents asked how she felt about adopting her best friend, or earlier that fateful morning, when Lizzie had said 'yes'?

Her life could have changed irrevocably at any moment, really, but this… this was an exponentially greater turning point than most – far more like the moment when her mother chose to keep her than choosing Ravenclaw over Gryffindor or any of the thousands of other choices Hermione had made in the four (or five-and-a-half) years since she had learned magic was real.

The horrible, tragic thing was, she hadn't realized it when she made it.

* * *

She had been waiting patiently in the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries, trying (and failing) to eavesdrop on the office where Unspeakable Santiago, Professors Snape and McGonagall, and the Head of the DoM Mentee Program were arguing over whether she would be allowed to keep her Time Turner in light of her flagrant over-use of the thing over the course of the past school year. A Researcher she hadn't met before had bustled up to her, apologizing for his tardiness, and hustled her into another office, apparently to help with some experiment or other. It was easy to see that he must have mistaken her for someone else, someone who had volunteered for… whatever it was she was wrapped up in before she could make the preoccupied wizard understand that she had no idea what was going on or who he was.

She even tried to ask what the experiment was designed to test, but received no answers other than " _This_ ," and an intricately carved stone ball. The exterior was dark, smooth and polished. It was hollow, with cut-outs that allowed her to see a second, lighter ball inside of it, similarly polished and carved out, and flashes of a golden, glowing sphere at the center.

As soon as the Researcher dropped the artifact into her hand from his (gloved, she noticed belatedly), the entire thing began to glow, illuminating unfamiliar, previously invisible runes. A wave of power swept out of it, and with a sensation not unlike the hooking of a port-key behind her navel and the familiar spinning of the plane outside of time moving past her, she was wrenched from the room.

She had just enough time to recognize the time-travel for what it was, and feel a deep sense of foreboding at the fact that the device that had predicated her impromptu trip seemed to have vanished (unlike a port-key, it had not bound itself to her hand) before she hit the anti-infiltration wards surrounding the Department of Mysteries, and was re-directed to an unobtrusive nook somewhere in London with a sensation much like running headlong into a brick wall.

She nearly fell on being dropped back into the normal flow of time, not to mention the impact with the wards. She _did_ stagger, away from the safety of the nook, across the pavement, and right into the path of an oncoming lorry, insensible to the danger as she gasped for breath and tried to keep herself from being utterly overwhelmed by a migraine, while simultaneously checking to make sure that all of her limbs and wand and bookbag were present.

She didn't hear the voice yelling for her to move, or the screech of the driver's brakes, or see anything at all of her surroundings until a strong arm wrapped around her and carried her in a (very dramatic) dive back onto the pavement. The lorry, swerving, missed them by inches, and then missed tipping over by inches, but its driver managed to recover and sped off with a long and angry blast on the horn.

The dark-haired, leather-clad boy who had saved her life groaned, sitting up slowly as she pushed her ridiculous curls (Lilian was right, she should just cut them off) out of her face.

"Who are you, anyway?" he asked abruptly, and she realized that he had been nattering on under his breath.

What, exactly, he had been saying was entirely unimportant, because it was at that point that she managed to get a good look at him, and realized (shock on top of shock) that she was staring at a fifteen-year-old Marauder.

"Black!" she exclaimed, before the question fully registered. "I mean, Maia," she had corrected herself. "It's um… I'm Maia."

"Maia… Black?" he asked, looking rather dazed. "Not… you're not my _cousin_ Maia? Um… are you?"

"Maybe?" she ventured, her mind scrambling for any way to get out of this predicament, but coming up with nothing.

"Sorry, I think I might've hit my head," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his skull and wincing. "My name's Sirius."

"Sirius…?"

"Black. Yeah, weird name, I know. You can call me Padfoot. All my friends do," he offered, scrambling to his feet and offering her a hand up.

"I quite like the name Sirius," she smiled, despite her panic. "Brightest star in the sky."

He gave her a charming grin. "And Maia is the eldest of the Pleiades. Everyone in my family is named for stars – that's why I thought you might be a cousin at first. But I don't suppose we really are related. It's not so uncommon a name, really."

"Not for muggles, no," she agreed absently, still trying to process the fact that she had to be in… Black was in the same year as Lizzie's parents, and they had been twenty when they died in 1981, so… 1976? '77? _Fuck_ , she wasn't even _born_ yet!

Relief was obvious on the young wizard's face as he grinned from ear to ear. "You're a witch? I knew it! I could've sworn you dropped out of nowhere! But – does that mean you really _are_ my cousin? I thought you were older…?"

She shrugged. "I'm… sixteen."

"You sure about that?" he smirked.

"No," she answered simply. "I'm not sure of anything, anymore. What year is it?"

He laughed, but grew serious when he saw the look on her face. "You're… not kidding?"

She shook her head.

"1976. 31st July. I'm skiving off on Lammas preparations. Care to join me?"

"I… I'm not sure that's such a good idea…" she answered faintly.

"It's not _that_ big a deal. I mean, I'm an adult, now, technically. For the ritual, at least. They can't _make_ me swear to the Dark if I don't want to, and if I'm not doing it, I don't see why I should have to help with the preparations. It's best all around, if I'm not there right now, actually, because if I have to sit through another of Mother's lectures or one more of Bella's –"

"Will you shut up?!" she demanded, massaging her temples and trying to think.

He hesitated, at least, before asking, carefully, "What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

She peered into his eyes for a long moment, trying desperately to divine whether he was truly trustworthy, before deciding that she had no choice. Now, in 1976, she had _no one_ , and no money, and no idea what to do. "I'm… I don't know how I got here. I was in the Department of Mysteries, and then… it was 1994, Sirius. I swear to God, I woke up this morning in 1994. It was Lizzie's birthday – oh, God!" she cut herself off as she realized that for all intents and purposes she had just disappeared from her parents' life, and Lizzie's – maybe forever, if she couldn't find a way to get home.

"Are – you're a _time traveler_?!" Sirius exclaimed delightedly, obviously with no thought for anyone who might overhear, or the trauma that un-intentional time-travel might cause.

"Sirius!" she snapped.

"No, this is great! We've got to tell Jamie and Remy and Pete – and maybe Dumbledore, if you know anything that could help with the war, and –"

"Sirius, I am _not_ going to tell Dumbledore! I'm not telling _anyone_ until we figure out what to do! And you shouldn't, either."

"But –"

"No! I want to go _home_ , and that means not forcing the timeline to diverge too much from the history of my own universe!"

"But how are you even going to _do_ that?! Time travel isn't like, an intentional thing!"

"Do you think I don't _know_ that?!" she nearly shouted at him. "It doesn't _matter_! I have to go _home_!"

"Well, before that, you have to clean up, and eat something, and maybe take a nap," the wizard said, his tone just shy of patronizing enough for her to hex him in the middle of a muggle street. "Come on, I'll take you to the Potters' – Dorea won't mind, and they'll take care of you until you, you know, invent a reliable method of time travel to take you home…"

He raised his wand as though to summon the Knight Bus, but Hermione stopped him, grabbing his wrist and forcing it down, because his words had reminded her of something: _'She did the arithmancy, the Dark Lord did the enchanting, and they managed to make the first working prototype in 1971, just as the War was kicking off. They didn't manage to move a target or anything other than the hourglass itself for years. Liam Rosier, who was a transfiguration prodigy, is credited with managing to link the field to a target in '77. They moved onto human trials just before I joined the Death Eaters in '78…'_

It was almost the first thing Snape had ever told her about Time Turners, and the 'she' he had been referring to was Bellatrix Black. If she had done the arithmancy for the first Time Turners, she _must_ have some sort of (relatively accurate) theoretical concept of how time _worked_ as a dimension which could be traversed, and those notes would be Hermione's best bet for figuring out how to get home.

"I've got a better idea," she said with her best impression of Lilian's cheeky grin. "You said you _do_ have a cousin called Maia, right?"

Sirius let out a barking laugh and grinned back. "Yeah, and I haven't seen her at a family ritual for years, so I'm guessing no one else knows what she looks like anymore either. This is going to be hilarious!"

* * *

It probably had been, Hermione would allow, hilarious for Sirius. On her end, it had been more along the lines of _harrowing_. She had been welcomed with open arms to the manse called Ancient House. They used the floo at Sirius' parents' townhouse, where they had transfigured Hermione's robes into something more or less appropriate, and Sirius showed her a Black Family Ancestry Tapestry. They had identified 'her' parents: Regulus Black (of the Black-Nashi line) had died the year before, and Aryn Kelly had died nearly a decade before that. Maia herself was still alive, according to the Tapestry (albeit almost two years older than Hermione, having been born in 1958), but according to Sirius, she hadn't even showed up to her father's funeral. It had, apparently, been quite the scandal within the House.

It was armed with that meagre information that she was forced to fend off a frankly astonishing number of female cousins and aunts, led by Sirius' mother, all of whom were eager to catch up with the girl they had not seen since before her poor mother died. She did her best to give away as little as possible about what 'she' had been doing for the past ten years, but long before dinner was served, her obvious lack of training as a proper young pureblooded witch and vague responses had more than one Black lady watching her suspiciously out of the corners of their eyes.

She had almost been relieved when Bellatrix had appeared – a few years older than the impression Tonks had done for her and Mary the Christmas before, in her late twenties, but still recognizably the same woman – and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steering her out of the parlor where she had been cornered and into a study, where a wizened old man and a sulking Sirius were waiting for them.

The man looked between the three of them with what Hermione thought might be irritation before demanding, "Well, one of you tell me what all this fuss is about. And make it quick. We're due at table in," he checked his watch, "twenty minutes."

Sirius crossed his arms stubbornly, and Hermione teetered on the verge of revealing all before Bellatrix did it for her: "This girl is an imposter, Pater Arcturus," she drawled, with a too-familiar smirk. "Who she _is_ , I haven't the faintest idea, but I _guarantee_ she is no daughter of the House of Black."

"How would you know?" Sirius snapped petulantly.

His cousin gave him a patronizing smile. "Given that she evidently knows nothing about the family, has no manners, and not even the trace of an American accent, despite Cousin Maia having attended Liberty Salem for the past seven years, I'd say it was obvious. Where did you find her? On the side of the Hogsmeade High Street?"

"Of course not," Sirius scoffed.

Bellatrix sighed. "I've no idea what you're playing at, Sirius, but it ends now. She is not one of us, and she will not be attending the ritual as one of the family."

The boy tensed, as though readying himself for a fight as he said, "That's fine. I'm not attending either. We'll go back to Grimmauld after dinner."

The elder witch opened her mouth, but before she could say whatever she intended, Arcturus, the Paterfamilias, cut her off. "You, girl," he said. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Hermione looked from one Black to the next and opened her mouth to lie, before she noticed Bellatrix performing the Venetian Veracity Indicator, and thought better of it. She was pretty sure the Death Eater saw her change her mind, because she smirked and winked as the light at the end of her wand glowed bright and clear. "Whenever you're ready, ' _Maia_ ,'" she said, sarcasm twisting the nick-name into a mockery.

"My name is Maia," she admitted slowly. The light at the end of Bellatrix's wand went blue. "Hermione," she corrected herself quickly. The light went green, but with the yellowish tinge that meant she was holding information back. "I… don't want to tell you my last name." A true green, finally.

"Why not?" Sirius asked thoughtlessly.

Hermione glared at him, and he looked stricken. "Because," she bit out. "It would… put me in danger." Yellow.

"Why?" Bellatrix grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

The younger witch transferred her glare and did her best Snape impression, staring her down in stony silence, despite her shaking hands and knees. The Occlumency she had practiced with Blaise and Snape was the only thing stopping her from falling to the ground in tears, but it wasn't nearly good enough for her to get away with lying under a truth charm.

"Fine, don't answer. I'll get it out of you eventually." The Death Eater's grin was positively sadistic. Hermione could just imagine how she planned to go about getting that information. Suddenly the idea of getting close to her to get to her notes on time travel sounded like a terrible plan. "Where are you from?"

"Not here. I… I shouldn't be here. I know. I'm sorry. I just – I'm not from here." Orange. Partially untrue. "I'm from Magical Britain, but…" Yellow. "I got lost." Still yellow, but she wasn't willing to say any more.

"Why are you here, and pretending to be Regulus' Maia?" Arcturus asked. He sounded tired.

Hermione hesitated, her eyes darting to Bellatrix. "I… thought it would be… helpful. That, um… someone, in the House of Black, might have… information I need to get home." Yellow, of course.

"And whose idea was that?" Arcturus asked forbiddingly.

"Mine," Hermione answered quickly, relieved to be able to answer honestly for once, and eager to exonerate Sirius from any wrong-doing. "Sirius offered to introduce me to the Potters instead, but he had already mentioned he had a cousin Maia, and I thought it might be better – it was stupid, I know." Green. "Just – just let me go. Let me leave. I'll… I won't bother you. I'll find some other way."

The light purple light of honest intent met her begging. Arcturus didn't seem to be paying much attention to her, though. He had turned to harangue Sirius over agreeing to let some stranger into the House. Bellatrix didn't seem to be paying much attention to any of them.

She was the next person to address Hermione, though. "How long have you known Sirius, Miss… _Hermione_?"

"We met earlier today."

"A _perfect stranger_!" Arcturus glared at Sirius.

But Bellatrix's spell was glowing orange. "Try again, ducky," she grinned.

Hermione felt herself breaking out in a nervous sweat. "We… we met… just before the end of my third year at Hogwarts." She didn't dare look at Sirius, but from the triumphant expression on Bellatrix's face, he must have given something away.

"And what year was that, Miss Hermione?" she asked sweetly.

Last year? The only reason no one else had noticed that she was sixteen instead of fourteen was because they had watched her age over the course of the year. 1993? That was even worse! There was no honest answer that wouldn't give away her time travelling.

"You know," she answered flatly. "How do you know?"

Bellatrix laughed, too-sweetly. "You're from here, but not from _here_ , you need special information to get home… information that I might hold. You've obviously known Sirius far longer than he's known you… There's only one answer to the riddle that you present, darling."

"Bellatrix, do explain yourself!" Arcturus demanded.

"She is a time traveler, Pater. Sirius has brought us a time traveler."

"A… but how?" the old man asked, stunned.

"That would be for our guest to explain, I should think," Bellatrix said reasonably, her tone at odds with the downright predatory expression on her face.

So Hermione, seeing no other alternative, explained – roughly – how she had been assigned a time-turner to test and then her misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, and how she did not want to change anything, but only to return to the future she had left, and as soon as possible.

When she finished, Bellatrix laughed, long and hard. Arcturus stared at her with the most blatant expression of speculative exploitation, and Sirius put a protective arm around her.

"Whatever you two are thinking," he said nastily, "you can just forget it!"

Bellatrix scoffed. "Look at the little lion cub, all grown up and fierce with it. Besides, you were the one who brought her into the family, as it were… I'm just thinking to make it a bit more… _official_. If, that is, Pater Arcturus will give his blessing."

The old man started, jolted out of his reverie by the sound of his name. "An adoption?" he asked, surprise clear in his tone.

Bellatrix nodded. Sirius immediately shook his head. "No. Maia – no. You can say no. You don't want to be a part of this family. _I_ don't want to be a part of this family! Just –"

His voice cut off suddenly under the influence of Bellatrix's silencing charm.

Hermione looked at her in shock. "No. You can't be serious – I… you don't even _know_ me!"

The older witch smiled, the expression identical to the one Elizabeth wore when she was genuinely pleased with herself. "I know you are a time traveler. You have knowledge, experience, which would be invaluable to my little project. I know you are at least… _moderately_ intelligent. Daring and impetuous, yes, to trespass here, but smart enough to know when to cut your losses and admit your lies, at least. All of these are traits we value. And I know you are at least curious about what we might have to offer – why else would you have come here in the first place?" Her voice grew softer as she spoke, until she was nearly whispering in Hermione's ear, sending chills down her spine. "I can feel your power, barely restrained. I can see the darkness behind your eyes. I can recognize potential when Fate and the Lady send it into my path, all unknowing."

"That's _enough_ , Bellatrix!" Sirius hissed, finally overcoming her spell and edging protectively between his cousin and the girl he had brought into their house.

The witch smirked at him. Arcturus cleared his throat, and Hermione jerked away from the Black cousins and the tension between them.

"Regardless of her suitability as a candidate, Bellatrix," the old man began, but Hermione interrupted.

"I'm not. Suitable. I'm muggleborn. A mudblood. Just let me go. Let me leave, and you'll never hear from me again."

The old man's eyes narrowed. " _Sirius_ …" he began, but this time it was Bellatrix who cut him off.

"Somehow I suspect my Lord will forgive my binding so valuable a source of information to us, regardless of the quality of its blood," the witch said blithely.

"But _I_ will not condone your sullying the family line with such nonsense!" Arcturus objected. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, even as Sirius tensed beside her. His reaction was explained almost instantly, as the old man continued: "Legilimize her and learn all she knows, and all that may be of use to us. Hand her over to your so-called 'Lord' to keep prisoner. _Imperius_ her if you have to. But you will _not_ –"

"I have far too much to do to waste time dealing with an uncooperative source of information on the future," Bellatrix broke in, eyes narrowed, inexplicably angry. "And don't give me that dragon-shite about muddying the family line, Pater! I'm not _asking_ to add her to the _succession_ , and besides, this is the _only_ way you will be getting good little Blacks out of _me_."

It was at that point Sirius piped up, obviously trying to be helpful. "Yeah. It's not like anyone is going to fight Old Snake-Face for – _ouch,_ mother _fucker_ – Bella, _stop it_!"

The witch lifted the silent curse she had cast on Sirius, and went on berating her Paterfamilias as though he had not interrupted. "Take a good _fucking_ look at the state of the family, Pater, and then tell me that bringing back blood adoptions is a bad idea!"

"It has been nearly forty _years._ We stopped adopting outsiders for a _reason._ If," the old man hissed, "and I do mean _if_ I were to bring back blood adoptions, the candidates would be of proven stock, and the primary goal would be to increase the number of _wizards_ in the family who might pass on the name, not for… for some ridiculous notion of yours to take in a mudblooded female time traveler!"

"Fuck your politics, Pater!" Bellatrix snapped. "You know as well as I that you haven't done _shite_ for this family since before I was born."

"I should have cast you out of the family when I had the chance!" the old wizard spat.

The Death Eater glared at him. "And _I_ can't wait until _you_ finally take a running leap through the Veil, but in the meanwhile, our deal still stands."

The Paterfamilias of the House of Black went pale. "You _wouldn't_. Not over… _this_."

"You think not? Try me. _Lady_ Bellatrix, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has a certain ring to it, does it not? Though to be perfectly honest, your thoughts on the matter would be entirely irrelevant, because by that point, _you_ would be _dead_."

Sirius was gaping at his relatives. Hermione was similarly astonished – how had the question of whether to adopt her (not that she actually wanted to be adopted into the House of Black) descended to the level of _death threats_? In under two minutes?

" _That's_ why he lets you do whatever you like?" the younger wizard asked incredulously. "Because you've threatened to kill him?"

"Because I've threatened to _challenge_ him for the position of Head of the Household according to the House Laws," Bellatrix corrected him, even as Arcturus snarled, "I do not let her do whatever she likes!"

The witch smirked. "But you _will_ let me do what I like in this instance, won't you, Pater? Because it would make my fucking holiday to kill you, and you know it."

The old man conceded defeat with an astounding lack of grace. "Fine!" He held out an ageing hand, palm up. "Do it quickly, and have done with it!"

Bellatrix produced a dueling knife and sliced his hand open without blinking. He winced, but allowed her to collect the blood that pooled in the hollow of his palm before healing it and vanishing all traces of the wound.

He managed to get the last word, as well, sweeping out the door: "Hurry up about it, before you're late for dinner!"

Bellatrix watched him go with a self-satisfied smirk.

Hermione found herself edging away from the older witch. She must have made some sound, or perhaps Sirius gave her away by watching her move, because without even looking, the Death Eater said, "Where do you think _you're_ going, missy?"

The time traveler froze. "Look," she said, in her best mollifying tone. "I get that you're extending me a great honor and there are all kinds of advantages to being associated with an Ancient and Noble House, but I already have a family. I don't want to be adopted. I just –"

"What makes you think you have a choice?" Bellatrix cut her off.

"Wha…? I…"

"Of course she has a choice," Sirius said mulishly. "She's my age! You'll need her consent!"

The dark witch rolled her eyes. "Oh, _that_. Well, then, your _choice_ is between a blood adoption and being handed over to my Lord to be held as a valuable prisoner."

"I – you can't _do_ that!" Hermione objected. "It's… it's extortion, or –"

The Death Eater snorted. "Just an outright threat, actually. I'm sure you can imagine the sort of thing we do to prisoners to ensure their cooperation. But it doesn't need to be like that. If you volunteer information, I will do everything in my power to return you to your own future, regardless of how far the histories diverge. Think of the adoption as… protection, and a sign of good faith. On _both_ sides."

"Can – can I have a minute to think about it?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes again. "I hardly see what there is to think about, but if you _must_ …"

Hermione dragged Sirius aside, into a corner, casting Snape's anti-eavesdropping charm as she did so. "Should I do it?" she asked, with no preamble.

Sirius tugged at his hair and sighed, but after a few seconds… "Yes." She gaped at him. "Look, if it's really a choice between the Blacks and her Master, I'd pick us, and she doesn't bluff about things like that. At least the family will offer you some protection. And that includes from anyone else who hears there's a time traveler about and tries to snatch you. I mean, the Death Eaters would probably try to get you back, but Family Magic would give you an edge in defending yourself and us in finding you."

"Is that the only reason she wants this?" Hermione hissed. "Surely there are tracking spells, or…"

Sirius tugged at his hair again. "It would also let her do blood magic on you, like compel you not to deceive her. I think that's probably the most important thing, since she wants information from you. Of course, if she does _that,_ she won't be able to deceive _you_ , either, but then, she's never really cared much about hiding anything, so she probably thinks it's worth it."

That was… very tempting, the time traveler considered. Especially since the dark witch had also promised to find a way to send her home. And she had read enough Dark Arts to know that blood-magic worked both ways. If Bellatrix could use it on her, she could use it against Bellatrix, as well. On the other hand, she would be giving information on time travel to the Death Eaters, and who _knew_ how that would change the scope of the war? She didn't want Voldemort to _win_.

Or… did she? A tiny, traitorous thought in the back of her mind reminded her that she had seen the other option, and Snape _did_ say that He wasn't _entirely_ insane before Lily had twisted his own curse around on him. She _knew_ that the Muggleborn Genocide didn't _really_ start until after that battle. Maybe… maybe she needed to learn more about the situation before she accounted for the war as a variable. After all, if history proceeded as it was meant to, it was going to get a lot worse for everyone before it got better.

And in any case, if she was going home, well… she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that these people didn't really matter _at all_ , or that they weren't quite real, but they mattered a lot less to her than the people from her own timeline. (She couldn't let herself start thinking about alternate timelines and feeling guilty for every _good_ choice she'd ever made because some other version of herself and her friends was stuck in a world where she'd made a _bad_ one, instead. That was just _asking_ for a nervous breakdown.)

So, bottom line: the adoption meant that she would have leverage of a sort over Bellatrix, and an in with the Death Eaters and a better chance of getting home than, she was sure, any other major player could offer her at the moment. Dumbledore didn't have time to even think about time travel, and the Department of Mysteries hadn't made real progress with it until they had the fruits of the Death Eaters' research in hand, which they didn't, yet. As a prisoner… she could only imagine. She doubted it would be good, after rejecting the honor that Bellatrix, who was already a major player in the organization, had extended to her. 'Living hell' might be more accurate.

"Is there anything else I should know, if I choose to take the adoption?" she asked Sirius, who was watching her anxiously.

"Um… Arcturus can use the Family Magic for a proper geis. He put a ban on Orion to stop him raising hand or wand against me and my brother. And he'd have the right to marry you off like any other Daughter of the House, but I doubt Bella would let him. And you'd probably have to swear to the Dark, for the Covenant. Um… I can't really tell you about that. Family Secret. Just know you'd have to become a dark witch. And… I think that's it, basically."

Hermione frowned. She knew that becoming a 'dark witch' just meant that she would find it much easier to use dark magic and much more difficult to use light magic, and she was willing to wager she already knew as much about the Dark Arts as Sirius – at least theoretically. She knew it didn't mean she would have to use what she knew. But it would be more tempting than it already was. And the idea of that mean old coot having the power to compel her through the family magic was disturbing. "Arcturus – would he try to use me to get back at Bellatrix for forcing his hand?"

The boy shrugged. "Probably not. I think she'd protect you like Narcissa and Reg. No one crosses her when it comes to them. They know what happened to Cygnus."

"Cygnus?"

"Her father. She killed him for abusing her little sister. Um. We don't talk about her. Ever."

It didn't take much to put that one together: she knew that Bellatrix and Narcissa Malfoy were sisters, and so were Lady Malfoy and Mrs. Tonks, once upon a time. "Andromeda?"

Sirius looked at her with an expression caught somewhere between confusion and surprise, but said, "Yeah. She left the family, five years ago. It was… Bella refuses to admit she ever existed. Don't bring it up if you don't want to get hexed."

"O…kay…" Definitely another point to add to the minus side of the balance sheet: adoption meant dealing with Black Family Drama. But the advantages still outweighed them – or rather, the negatives of didn't seem to outweigh the horrors she imagined would await her as Voldemort's prisoner. _I should have just gone to the Potters'_ , she thought anxiously, as half-formed thoughts of somehow escaping rushed wildly through her head. But if that were an option, she was sure Sirius would have already gotten her out of there. He looked every bit as anxious and miserable as she felt.

She kept her voice as calm and even as possible as she said, "Okay. I'll do it. Miss, um… Bellatrix?" she raised her voice. "I'll do it. The adoption."

"Fabulous," the elder witch said, so drily it sounded sarcastic, but her grin seemed genuine enough as she gestured for Hermione to come to her. "Siri, you recall the ritual?"

The boy nodded warily. "Yes, but –"

Whatever objection he intended to make, Bellatrix utterly ignored. "Excellent. Meet us at the Keep," she said, linking her arm through Hermione's. And then, with the most awful disintegrating sensation, the dark witch pulled her into some traveling dimension she had never before experienced.

It was a dark void, not entirely unlike the experience of being put under an Isolation Hex, but with the key difference that she was _certain_ her senses were still functioning. There was just nothing for her to sense – only the solid warmth of Bellatrix at her right side. She clung to the witch frantically, fearing that if she let go, she would drift in the empty blackness forever. Death would be a blessing, if she found herself trapped _there._

Thankfully, the trip was short, or at least it seemed short. They materialized in the middle of an enormous circle of what seemed to be solid basalt (though on further inspection, it was many smaller, hexagonal pieces, fitted together near-seamlessly) that radiated magic with a dark intensity Hermione had never felt anywhere else. It was as though she was drowning, the air too thick to breathe at first. Even the Chamber of Secrets had not held such an aura.

As she recovered from the transportation, she realized that she was on her knees, and her arms were still wrapped around Bellatrix's corseted torso. Someone was petting her hair, and someone else was laughing. She dragged her gaze away from the fabric only inches from her nose, to see, of all people, Tom Riddle, as handsome as he ever had been in Ginny's memories, though older and somewhat more debonair, smirking at the pair of them. Hermione glared at him, but he paid her no attention.

"Side along _shadow walking_ , Bella?" he observed, raising a sardonic brow which was belied by the amusement in his tone.

"I wasn't about to let her try to escape through the floo, and she isn't keyed into the apparition wards," the witch answered defensively.

"It wasn't a criticism," the man noted. "Quite the contrary, in fact. Very impressive. So. What was so terribly urgent that you've called me away from my Lammas preparations?"

Hermione could _hear_ the smirk in the witch's voice as she answered. "I've decided to adopt a mudblood."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Riddle responded, during which Bella clapped delightedly. "See how he's gone all blank?" she whispered to Hermione. "I love it when that happens. It means he's really surprised."

"Like a pet?" Riddle asked, finally.

"No, like a daughter."

"A… daughter." Hermione's disgust with the term must have shown on her face, because he added, chuckling slightly, "She doesn't seem too pleased with the idea. Nor, quite frankly, am I. For one thing, this will necessitate a delay with the Lestrange contract. Explain, if you would."

Though it was phrased as a mere invitation, the tone indicated it was anything but. Bellatrix sighed. "She's a time traveler. I'm sure the implications do not escape you, Master. And negotiations on the Lestrange contract have not even begun. I am confident that this will not be considered any greater a complication than any other aspect of my loyalties, especially since the girl will remain a Black, regardless of my House affiliation."

Riddle's eyes had narrowed at the mention of time travel, and it was that phrase he repeated: "A time traveler? Really? From when?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Far enough in the future that Mysteries was handing out time turners to schoolchildren. Question her as you will, my Lord. I think you will find the potential she offers to be worth the shame of adopting a mudblood. I did."

"Indeed?" Riddle drew nearer, his eyes fixed on Hermione's face. She refused to meet them, and redoubled her efforts to repel any mental intrusions, but it made no difference. She could feel his magic slipping into her mind like a snake through tall grass, hardly making a disturbance as it passed. "Very poetic, my dear," he murmured. When had he gotten so close? "I could just break her, you know, Bella. She's not a very good occlumens. You needn't take her in to gain access to her secrets."

Hermione felt Bellatrix tense beside her. "Planetes are tools of the Powers as much as any Dedicate. She is here because she is meant to be here."

"But to what purpose, my Viper?" the Dark Lord asked, turning his attention fully to the other witch. "We can use her, yes, and perhaps if we do not end her now, she will benefit us in the long run, but perhaps the intentions of the Powers run counter to our goals. To keep her is a risk."

"And who is to say that stripping her mind and killing her before she accomplishes whatever task the Powers have brought her here to carry out will not bring their wrath down upon us and our work? I will not second-guess myself, Master. Not in this."

The Dark Lord crossed his arms, and glared at her. "I don't like it."

Bellatrix, inexplicably, grinned. "That, my Lord, is because you are a creature of Order. Think of it thusly: the appearance of a Wanderer is like a true Prophecy. Whatever the Powers intend shall come to pass, now, and we, as always, shall take what advantage we may from the situation. Besides, the risk is what keeps things interesting!"

The wizard rolled his eyes. "Very well. If you are truly determined to be a brat about this, you may keep her. Is that all?"

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix answered, slinking forward and rising to her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. He smirked, and inclined his head so that she could kiss him properly, steadying her at the elbow.

"It may interest you to know that her name is Hermione Jean Granger, and she is from the year 1994," he offered, just as Sirius arrived, sprinting through the trees.

"Sorry!" he apologized, stumbling into Hermione. "Mother trapped me before I could reach the floo." Then he looked up, and realized that they were not alone with his cousin. "De Mort. What are _you_ doing here?"

"You will address my Lord with _respect_ ," Bellatrix hissed at the boy, directing her wand at him threateningly.

"He's _your_ lord, not mine and we both know he doesn't have a real title. Are we still pretending he's French? _Monsieur_ De Mort, then. Wha – _aaaagh!_ " Sirius fell to the ground twitching and flailing.

The curse – the Cruciatus, surely – it matched the descriptions she had read, and Bellatrix was known to favor it – lasted only a few seconds: just long enough for Riddle to snap, "Bellatrix!" She let it go, and he continued, "Much as I appreciate your defense of my honor, I am perfectly capable of defending it myself, should I deem it necessary. Those who serve me do so willingly or not at all, and I will allow some lenience for those whose loyalty I still hope to _earn_." Hermione was only half listening, kneeling beside the fallen Sirius, but she was perfectly capable of recognizing a good-cop routine when she saw one, especially when Riddle offered Sirius a hand up. The boy ignored it (much as Riddle ignored Bellatrix's muttering about how it was in insult to _her_ as much as to _him_ ), scrambling to his feet and leaning heavily on Hermione as he spat blood at the older wizard's feet.

"Y-your h-hopes are m-m-mis-placed, _sir_ ," he retorted, putting as much scorn as he could into the last word. "A true B-Black b-bows to _no one_. And ccc – definite-ly n-not _you_."

"If you have something to say to me, Sirius, say it _to_ _me_ ," Bellatrix interrupted before Riddle could respond. _"_ But don't forget, I _know_ you. I _raised_ you, as much or more than dear Auntie Walburga. And you are far more like _me_ than you want to admit. Poor Little Siri, always trying to be something he's not, longing to impress his little lion-cub friends. Who would _you_ bow to, Sirius? Albus Dumbledore? No… no… little Jamie Potter? Ah! How sad for you that –"

"Shut up! Just _shut up!_ You don't have a b- _bloody_ clue what you're t-talking ab-bout!"

"Don't I? Was Narcissa mistaken, then, about the nature of your friendship? Do you not love him, and in an entirely different way than your precious brother? Reggie has seen it too, you know…"

Bellatrix continued to speak, overriding Sirius any time he tried to get a word in edge-wise, but Hermione was distracted at that point by Riddle sighing heavily in her ear. "I _do_ love the Blacks," he murmured. "They're so terribly passionate – even Bella. It's rather amusing, don't you agree?" Apparently her response was not required, because he circled away to stand beside the cousins, still speaking. "But I _do_ have other business to attend to today, Bellatrix," he said pointedly, raising his voice to cut through the argument.

The witch stopped speaking at once. Sirius took advantage of her silence to good effect: "You're one to call _me_ a dog, Trixie, kept on his leash as you are. Do you roll over and come when he orders you as well?"

Bellatrix flushed and raised a hand to smack him across the face, but Riddle caught her by the wrist with a smirk. "She does, in fact. She also goes where I will and kills at my word. I would be happy to demonstrate _why_ , if you like." There was a definite seductive undertone in the elder wizard's voice as he advanced on Sirius until their chests were nearly touching. Sirius, though he was several inches shorter, refused to look up, staring resolutely ahead, hands shaking. The Dark Lord, likewise, did not deign to look down, but spoke over his head as he made his intent only too clear, his voice so soft Hermione had to lean in to hear it: "I can taste your longing like a scent on the air. My Viper and I… we could _ruin_ you for anyone else… Pleasure and pain so closely entwined that you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins... Satisfaction beyond your wildest dreams… You can tell me that you do not want this, but we both know you would be _lying_ …"

He trailed off with the tiniest of smirks, even as Sirius shuddered and his expression of resolve wavered, and Hermione decided she had to intervene. Much as she liked to think of herself as being open-minded when it came to things like sex, she simply couldn't let _anyone_ be so easily seduced by the Dark Lord, and most _certainly_ not a sixteen-year-old boy who _hated_ him.

"Leave him alone, Riddle," she snapped, edging a shoulder between the two wizards, and forcing Sirius to back away.

He looked down to stare at her in a way she couldn't help but think of as threatening. "Are you sure you were a Ravenclaw, my dear?" he asked, sotto voce. "That particular decision seems most… unwise."

Before she could think of a retort, Bellatrix, who had been watching the proceedings with a sort of idle curiosity, asked, " _Riddle_?" and the man in question whirled away to placate her.

"It is not terribly important, _ssh'ih_. We can discuss it later. For the moment, you have an adoption to perform, and I have other business left too long unattended."

Bellatrix nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"Black, that offer is always open," he grinned, before locking eyes with Hermione and shoving a thought at her hard enough that it pierced straight through her Occlumency shields. She gasped at the pain of it, and shivered at the message itself: _"I have gone to a great deal of effort to dissociate myself from the name Tom Riddle. Wandering star or no, if you value your life, you will keep that particular detail of future knowledge to yourself,_ " unfolding as smoothly as though she might have imagined it.

She was certain she hadn't, though.

His eyes narrowed, demanding a response, and she nodded. He smiled, as though he had not just mentally assaulted her and sexually harassed Sirius. "Best of luck with your adoption, Miss Granger."

"Are you sure you will not stay to observe, Master?" Bella asked, but he shook his head. She sighed. "Very well. I will come after the Black ceremony has concluded."

"Excellent. I have a project in the works which I think you will appreciate."

She bowed and he nodded before disappearing in a curl of dark smoke. Neither of them seemed to mind that neither of the younger couple had made even a token effort at a proper farewell.

Sirius relaxed substantially as soon as the Dark Lord was gone, apparently more concerned about the threat he posed than his cousin's torture spells. "What was that about?" he asked quietly, even as his cousin set about casting runes to harness power for the adoption ritual.

Hermione shook her head. "I'll tell you later," she whispered, silently adding a ' _maybe'_ to her statement. She wasn't entirely certain that she trusted Sirius not to tell anyone, and she had no doubt that Voldemort would follow through on his threat to kill her if she spread his true name about.

"Riddle…" Sirius mused. "That doesn't sound like any magical name I've ever heard of, and believe me, Mother made me memorize all of them."

"Sirius," Hermione hissed furiously, with a quick glance at Bellatrix. "Shut. _Up_. I said _later_. If you must talk about _something_ , tell me what this ritual entails."

The boy looked rather taken aback, but after a moment, shrugged. "I've never seen it done, mind," he began, "because the Family stopped adopting outsiders about… thirty… five years ago? Forty? Sometime around then, anyway, because, well, some political reason. I think. Can't say I was really paying much attention in that particular family history lesson," he grinned unrepentantly. "But there are a few levels of adoption in Magical Britain. Stop me if you know, but I'm assuming you don't – you said you're muggleborn, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Go on."

"Well," he said, ticking off options on his fingers. "There's wardship, which is kind of like being taken in by a godparent, except by a House and not an individual. Anyone can do that, though they'd be in loads of trouble if they didn't clear it with the Head of the Family first, because it's basically bringing someone under the legal protection of House Black. Then there's House adoption, which is kind of similar legally, but only the Head of House can do it, and the adoptee is, oh, what do you call it, when someone is, you know, allowed to do a certain thing, or qualified…?"

"Eligible?" Hermione offered, distracted by the tangent.

"Yes! That's the word. So a House adoptee is eligible to become the Head of House or the Heir or whatever. The McKinnons adopted their current Head of House. But most families won't do that, even Light families, unless they're trying to shake a bloodline curse without losing their name and, you know, for political reasons."

"Is that… that's not what we're doing here, is it?" the girl asked. She was quite certain the ritual had been referred to as a _blood_ adoption earlier, which sounded infinitely more ominous.

Sirius hesitated. "Erm… no. Ah… the House of Black uses a blood-adoption ritual. Or well, we did, back when we adopted people all the time. Which, um. Really the legal stuff is the same, because you can't really tell people you used a blood ritual because it's illegal – bioalchemy, actually. Ritualized. So you can't un-do it. I guess it's kind of like replacing one of your parents?"

"Stop spouting rubbish, Sirius," Bellatrix said, apparently done casting her runes. They flashed and flared like fire opal against the dark stone of the ritual space. "It doesn't _replace one of your parents_ any more than the Oath of Godparenthood breaks the bond between child and parent," she assured Hermione, rolling her eyes expressively. "It's… additive."

"But," Sirius interjected. "What about –"

Bellatrix sighed. " _Yes_ , it can cause some features to present differently afterward. But it's not so straightforward as 'you had your mother's eyes and hair, but now you'll have mine.' You might still have your mother's eyes and your father's nose and inherit the Black coloring or the like. Now, if you two are done wasting time, both of you, step into the circle."

Sirius did as he was told, despite looking as though he very much wanted to do anything else. He winced and shuddered as he crossed the runes, shifting in obvious discomfort as he waited.

The time traveler hesitated. "Sorry, but… I still don't understand – what do I have to do?" she asked nervously, eyeing the flickering magic that defined the perimeter of the circle in question.

Bellatrix fixed her with an unamused stare. "It would literally take longer to describe the ritual and your role in it than to just do it. Get in the circle."

With a wary look at the elder witch, the teen stepped carefully over the boundary and into a building well of magical potential. She must have adjusted, she realized, to the presence of power outside of it, because that was nothing compared to the feeling of dark magic rising from the stone around her, like frigid water pooling around her ankles and creeping up her calves, so cold it _hurt_. She shivered, teeth chattering, though the sense of _cold_ had nothing to do with physical temperature, and the involuntary muscle contractions would therefore do nothing to warm her.

In fact, it probably wasn't the 'cold' darkness of the magic, either, which had her shaking in her transfigured sandals, so much as the _finality_ and well, the _invasiveness_ of the ritual she was about to undergo. Blood alchemy – messing about with a living person's genetics, essentially – was… quite frankly terrifying – the stories she had read! Everything was moving far too quickly – she had only been in the past for what? A few hours? And already she was being coopted into a horrifyingly invasive, permanent ritual, tying herself to the Blacks – and worse, to _Bellatrix_ _specifically_ , who was, according to Snape, utterly mad… _I really should have gone to the Potters'_ , she thought regretfully, her hand finding its way into Sirius' as the Death Eater joined them in the circle and began her invocation.

It was… strange, she thought, focusing desperately on that rather than the horror of her situation. The invocation. She wouldn't consider herself any sort of expert on ritual magic by any means, but she had seen a fair few in person at Hogwarts, and read descriptions of many more in her research for Snape, and she thought it was safe to say that most invocations held a sense of… well, pomp and circumstance to them. An air of determination fell over the older witch before she spoke, but when she did, her words were plain English, and her tone was not entirely serious – almost as though she considered the traditional steps of the ritual somehow… unnecessary, Hermione noted distantly. The better part of her attention was directed toward the actual words:

"I call upon the Dark Powers to witness this rite of adoption on the eve of Lammastide. As we shall renew our connections to our house in the sight of the Binding Power, so this girl initiates her own, joining herself to the Eternal House in body, name, and magic. Let Chaos smile upon the potential of this choice and Wisdom guide us in our path, as Death and Transience witness the end of one life and the beginning of another."

The evening light surrounding them seemed to fade away as the magic responded to the call, regardless of the lack of formality in the speaker's tone.

"Your hand." Bellatrix drawled. She sounded almost bored.

Hermione extended her free hand warily. Faster than her eyes could follow, the dark witch drew her blade and sliced into the underside of her wrist. It didn't even hurt at first, so sharp was the knife, so quick the strike. It was only as dark blood welled to the surface, running in rivulets to fall to the ground at her feet that the girl felt the first hint of pain through her shock.

She seized the wound reflexively as she protested, "I –" but the ritualist cut her off with a sadistic grin, pressing the flat of the steel – still stained with her own blood – to her lips.

"Ah ah ah," she tutted mockingly. "Repeat after me, now. I, Hermione Jean, dedicate myself to the Dark. By my blood, my name, and my magic, let it know me."

Hermione swallowed hard as the artificial night closed in. Sirius, as though sensing her nervousness, squeezed her shoulder gently. She gathered her courage and did as ordered. The magic pooling around her feet rose up around her, as though to drown her. She could feel Sirius' hand shaking, gripping her more tightly. Obviously he could feel the magic at work, but he refused to abandon her.

Bellatrix continued: "I welcome the magic of the night and the space between the stars. Come into my heart and be one with me."

The younger witch repeated the words, trembling as she sensed the magic invading her lungs with her next breath, weighing her down like lead in her stomach as it coursed through her veins and seeped into her bones. For all she was familiar with the theory of the Dark Arts, for all she was certain that of all the Powers, Experience was the one which most closely resonated with her own soul, truly dark magic itself was foreign to her, and strange, terrifying and uncomfortable, just shy of painful. She suddenly felt _very_ young.

"I give myself over to the Powers of the Dark, and claim for myself their strength," the Black witch concluded with a challenging expression.

Hermione knew all at once that this was the moment of no return, and that somehow, for some reason, the older woman expected her to fail. Not likely. Once she committed to a thing, she followed through, damn it! "I give myself over to the powers of the dark," she repeated quickly, trying not to think of what was about to happen, "and claim for myself their strength!"

The Death Eater smirked, and the sense of certainty the time traveler had held only seconds before vanished. Had she just been tricked, somehow? But she couldn't dwell on that, as the woman spoke again: "By the power vested in me by Chaos and the Darkness, I confer upon you their blessings. Know the Powers by the tenor of your magic, and let the symbol of your life stand surety of the covenant between you." She leaned down slightly and pressed her lips chastely to Hermione's.

As though the dark witch had lit a fuse, the magic harbored uncomfortably within the girl's flesh burst into truly painful, searing cold. She had not thought it possible for the power to grow any colder – any _darker_ – than it had been when she stepped into the circle, or when it began to flow with the beating of her heart, chilling her from within, but it did, suffusing every cell, every nerve, freezing her to her marrow. She endured silently, focusing on her breathing and the pounding of her heart to the exclusion of all else until she could no longer feel Sirius' hand on her shoulder or see Bellatrix standing before her, and she was certain she would never be warm again. _This_ , she thought, gasping desperately for air, _must be what a dementor's kiss is like_.

And then something within her twisted – her magic aligning itself to the Dark, she realized, in a shock-ridden, distant-and-academic corner of her mind – and every hint of discomfort vanished. She rather thought she would have fallen to her knees at the abruptness of it, but the magic tingling throughout her body now seemed to buoy her, raising her up even as it tied her to the rest of the universe in new and altogether unexpected ways.

None of the books she had read had said anything about the way it felt altogether natural, now, to reach out to the magic all around her and feel it twining about her own like a cat around her ankles, welcoming her home after an endless day, as though she _belonged_ now in a way she hadn't before, and the universe wanted her to know it. It was vaguely reminiscent of her introduction to Magic on her thirteenth birthday, but far stronger, with greater purpose. It was like… a cold shower, waking her up, the chill magic no longer painful, but refreshing, and her magic hummed in harmony with the world, resonating with the potential around her more perfectly than she had ever felt before.

As the echoes of the ritual faded, she became aware again of Sirius' hand clenched in her robes, his nails digging into the skin beneath, and the pain in her right wrist (though it seemed the cut itself had healed), and Bellatrix standing only inches away, her face fixed in an expression of ecstasy.

She sighed, breaking the spell, and Hermione glanced back at Sirius, who, it seemed, had not derived the same pleasure from the ritual as the witches. His face was contorted in pain, his hold on her shoulder clearly grounding himself, now, rather than attempting to comfort her.

"Sirius," she whispered, carefully laying a hand atop his. She was wary of interrupting the adoption ceremony, but altogether distracted by the fingers digging into her with bruising force. "You're hurting me. Are you okay?"

He grunted, but relaxed his hand with obvious effort.

It was Bellatrix who explained, eyes sparkling with sadistic mirth. "Poor Siri is a bit _sensitive_ when it comes to dark magic. He'll be fine. Now, attend!"

She vanished Hermione's clothing – every bloody stitch – with a wordless wave of her wand. Hermione responded with a startled _eep_ and an attempt to cover herself, though Sirius, still recovering from the previous spell, and Bellatrix, preoccupied with retrieving a familiar vial of blood from one of her pockets, seemed not to notice. She set it on the ground before drawing her dueling knife again and vanishing her own robes.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at the entirely unselfconscious young Death Eater. Her first thought was that Lilian would be jealous: the older witch was incredibly fit, the corset she had worn apparently serving only to enhance her rather small breasts, for her waist was just as trim without it. The muscles in her arms and legs were long and lean, defined in a way that only constant physical exercise would accomplish – a rarity among wizards, to be sure, especially outside of the Quidditch world. More strikingly, she was only ten years or so older than Hermione, and yet her skin bore a veritable tapestry of scars – cuts, burns, and lash-marks (cursed, she presumed, for mundane injuries could be healed so completely as to leave no mark at all) featured prominently, but there were also runes scattered between them, ranging in age from still-red lines that looked as though they could start bleeding at any moment, to raised pink scars, to old, smooth, silvery symbols for strength and endurance, for swiftness and healing, for power, protection, and guidance.

In short, the Blackheart looked like the Amazon she had been named, a magical warrior, her very skin enchanted, bearing the marks of a very real, ongoing war, making that conflict real to Hermione in a way that even meeting the Dark Lord himself hadn't, quite.

After a moment, she shook herself, noting that there were more decorative marks as well – Celtic knots and delicately carved flowers, and what might easily have been a muggle tattoo of the constellation Orion, the star Bellatrix limned in blue at her right shoulder. These stood in sharp contrast to the scars and the ink that marred her left forearm.

Hermione had seen Snape's Dark Mark – a burn-scar vaguely reminiscent of the shape of a skull with a serpent tongue, its lines and shading grey and nearly invisible beneath the damaged flesh. She had imagined it as a solid brand before the Dark Lord's Fall, a plain black stamp of evil. The undamaged version, she now realized, was a nearly photo-realistic black and white image of a human skull, only three inches tall, its mouth harboring an animated black serpent which coiled and shifted in response to the witch's movements.

"Nine _hells_ , Bella!" Sirius said, apparently recovered enough to notice the fact that his cousin was now nude. "What the fuck has that bastard done to you?"

The time traveler realized belatedly that the dark witch must have dismissed some sort of concealing magic along with her clothes, because she hadn't noticed any of the scars on her arms or chest before, and apparently neither had Sirius.

Bellatrix glared at him and took two swift steps, swiping at his face and carving a shallow gash across his left cheekbone. " _Respect_ , brat! You _will_ learn it!"

The boy glared at her, ignoring the blood dripping down his face and the threatening knife poised only inches from his left eye. "I'm not the one with the Dark Lord's property brand on my left arm or his runes in my skin!" he snapped defiantly.

"Ooh, look at baby cousin, all over-protective," the woman sneered. "I've forgotten more about enchanting the flesh than you'll ever know, Siri. I trust my master and his work. Now are you going to do your part or not?"

Sirius wiped his face clean with a quick swipe of the back of his hand, sneering magnificently at his cousin. "You owe me, Trixie," he muttered, turning to Hermione.

Bellatrix snorted, obviously amused, but neither of the cousins explained, and the time traveler was quickly distracted by the boy's uncharacteristically sober expression. He waited a moment longer before speaking, a matter of dramatic timing, she thought, or else bracing himself for the next stage of the ritual.

"I speak as a scion of the House of Black, as one who would be kin to the woman before me. Hear me, Powers, and witness!" Dark magic swirled around them, rising up from the ground in a way that made Hermione want to giggle, and Sirius visibly wince, but left no doubt that the magic was, in fact, paying attention. "Hermione Jean, would you, upon your magic, swear to put it at the disposal of the House of Black and your newfound kin?"

The girl thought that sounded rather ominous, honestly, but she was certain there was only one correct response if she wished to go forward with the adoption. And given the alternative… "I would," she said quietly. Sirius gave her a tiny nod, as the magic encircled her tightly, binding her to the sentiment of behind her vow.

"Would you swear, upon your life, to place the wellbeing of the House of Black before it, or that of any other individual?"

"I… I would." _Though that sounds even worse than the last one_ , she thought as the sense of binding magic redoubled.

"Would you swear upon your honor to place your duties to the House of Black and your newfound kin before all others, including the House of your birth and the family who raised you?"

That was, Hermione thought, possibly the easiest of the three vows to uphold, given that her parents didn't know her from any passing stranger at the moment. "Yes," she said firmly. "I would." The magic wrapped itself around her so tightly she felt she hardly ought to be able to move, though it was nothing physical. She gasped.

Sirius raised his hand to the cut on his cheek, then made a face when he realized it was no longer bleeding. He held his left hand out to Bellatrix with a long-suffering expression, mouthing _'ow_ ' emphatically as her knife bit into the meat of his palm, to the woman's apparent amusement.

Hermione couldn't identify the symbol he drew over her heart, and she had no hope of divining the meaning of the one on her forehead, which she couldn't even see. "Let the magic of the night and the space between the stars judge the truth of the intentions of this woman who would make herself kin to the Eternal House," Sirius declaimed, and the symbols burst into – well, it _felt_ like fire, as though the marks were searing their way through her flesh and into her very _soul_ , seeking out any hint of deception or any desire to harm the House, but it probably wasn't.

Hermione came to that conclusion later: in the moment, she was far more concerned with the pain. It abated after seconds or minutes, she couldn't have said, and she found herself on her knees, face streaming with tears.

Sirius, his face hard, helped her up, then turned to Bellatrix. "The Powers have judged the candidate's intentions to be true. I, Sirius Orion, First Son and Heir to the House, do stand beside the candidate as a worthy kinswoman."

Bellatrix positively _cackled_. "Excellent. I speak as a scion of the House of Black, as the one who would claim this child as my daughter. Hear me, Powers, and witness my claim. I offer guidance, fulfilling a mother's sacred duty to shape her daughter's future. I offer protection, as a mother needs must support her child against the dangers inherent in her life. I offer identity, family, and a place in this world, the bond between mother and child unassailable and recognized by all. In return, I would that my daughter trust in my guidance, repay protection with loyalty, and respect myself and the name which she is offered this night. As it is agreed, let it be so sworn."

"Erm…" Hermione hesitated. Trust, loyalty, and respect didn't seem all that high a price for Bellatrix's good will, let alone her protection, especially in comparison to the vows she had just sworn on her honor, life, and magic. But she had no idea how to answer the offer.

Sirius leaned in, apparently sensing her dilemma, to murmur in her ear. "If you agree –" she nodded somewhat desperately. "Okay, so you rephrase the terms, and then say, 'As my lady mother does fulfil our agreement, so too shall I. Twice and thrice-bound, this I swear, before…' and name your witnesses. Magic, my kinsmen, and the stars are traditional."

The time traveler took a deep breath. "Trust for guidance, loyalty for protection, respect for identity and a place in this world. As… my lady mother…" (Referring to Bellatrix as her mother felt _wrong_ on a truly deep and visceral level.) "…does fulfill our agreement, so too shall I. Twice and thrice-bound, this I swear, before magic, my kinsmen, and the stars," she repeated.

In comparison to the previous oaths, the tingle of magic that confirmed the mutual vows was hardly noticeable, even when Bellatrix grinned and said, "So mote it be." She moved on immediately. "Sirius? You'll have to do the Patriarch's lines by proxy."

"Great," he muttered, then sighed, his shoulders momentarily slumped in resignation. "You have to kneel," he told her, taking her hands between his as she did so, rather confused.

He straightened his posture before declaring, "I speak as the Heir of the House of Black, on behalf of its Patriarch, with his knowledge, by his will. Would you, Hermione Jean, swear homage to the House of Black, submitting yourself to its protection and acknowledging the authority of its lord?"

"Erm… yes, I would," Hermione answered, uncertain how this differed from the earlier test of her worthiness as an adoptee, but willing to play along, especially having come this far already.

"Would you swear loyalty, placing the honor and wellbeing of the House of Black above all others?"

"Yes."

"Would you swear fealty, bound by blood to the will of the House and the authority of its Lord?"

"I… yes."

"Then repeat after me: I, Hermione Jean, swear before magic, before my would-be kinsmen, and the stars…"

"I, Hermione Jean, swear before magic, before my would-be kinsmen and the stars…"

_I swear before magic, my would-be kinsmen, and the stars… to be true and faithful to the House of Black… to support the Family as asked of me… and never, by word or deed, do anything to harm the wellbeing of the House… and that the House shall hold my highest loyalty… I swear unto the Lord of Black my wand, my honor, and my will… that I might be recognized as a full member of the house… with all the rights and responsibilities entailed therein._

She repeated it all, word perfect, hands trembling in Sirius' clammy grip. When it was done, he said, solemnly, "I, Sirius Orion, Heir of the House, on behalf of its Head, do accept your vow, Hermione Jean, and do recognize you as a daughter of the House, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof. As it is agreed, let it be so sworn."

Thrown for a moment, Hermione hesitated, but then recalled the line she had used to close the previous phase of the ritual. If she wasn't entirely mistaken, Sirius had just restated the terms, so… "As the House of Black does fulfill our agreement, so too shall I. Twice and thrice-bound, this I swear, before magic, my kinsmen, and the stars," she said again, not quite concealing the tremor of fear in her voice.

She needn't have worried: the magical response was far more like that of her vow with Bellatrix than the testing magic which had had her on the ground in tears. The Heir of the House guided her to her feet and kissed her gently on the lips (rendering her acutely aware of her nudity, which seemed, somehow to have slipped her mind as she focused on the magic and the oaths she was swearing – she might, she decided, be in shock).

The magic washed over her gently as he said, "So mote it be."

He grimaced, of course, at the touch of dark power, but Bellatrix clapped delightedly. "Now for the fun part!" she giggled.

Somehow, Hermione was _certain_ that the 'fun part' wouldn't be 'fun' for _her_.

It might have had something to do with the worn, pained look on Sirius' face.

Nevertheless, he held out his hand to his cousin again, allowing her to re-open the wound on his palm, and circled Hermione to trace a line of sticky symbols down the center of her back. He muttered under his breath as he did so: "By the blood of he who would be your cousin and the beating of your heart, I bind you in brotherhood to the House of Black."

When he was done, she felt an… _awareness_ snap into place between the three of them.

Bellatrix grinned, suggesting she could feel it too, and turned the knife on herself, carving a rune Hermione was certain meant _life_ just above the dark curls that obscured her sex. Before the girl could object, the woman was finger-painting on her body as well. It took a moment for the younger witch to place the single symbol marked above her navel, as it was upside-down from her perspective, but as the elder witch whispered, "By the blood of she who would be your mother and the magic in your bones, I bind you in body to the Family," she recognized it as an adaptation of _othala_ , the one which was most often used to indicate 'child.'

A second connection was born, this one far stronger and somehow… _deeper_ than the first, as though it was taking hold of her on some fundamental level.

And then the elder witch was reaching for the vial, uncorking it and tracing a shape in the center of Hermione's forehead: "By the blood of he who would be your patriarch and the fire in your soul, I bind you in magic to the Family."

This time, the magical response was like a faint echo of the first ritual, a tingling throughout her body and magic, moreso than an actual connection.

Bellatrix must have thought it was working properly, though, because she smiled. "Now repeat: body, magic, and soul, I bind myself to the House of Black."

Crushing her uncertainty and fear beneath her fledgling Occlumency skills, Hermione repeated the words. The runes painted on her skin flared to life, their magic seeking hers, drawing it out.

"Again," Bellatrix demanded.

"Body, magic, and soul, I bind myself to the House of Black," Hermione repeated. Like the dark magic had done not half an hour before, she could feel the binding sinking into her flesh, transforming her, the pain of it not entirely unlike using Polyjuice potion, but an order of magnitude more comprehensive as skin and bone and muscle subtly re-molded itself on the cellular and even genetic level, incorporating Bellatrix's blood into her own, re-writing her biology to reflect that of her newly-adopted mother. When it ended, she was on the ground. Bellatrix was lying next to her, panting and covered in sweat, but her face held an expression of utter exhilaration.

Hermione, by contrast, felt ill and exhausted. She rolled onto her side retching, infinitely grateful to Sirius, who darted forward to hold her hair.

"Again," Bellatrix demanded pitilessly, rising to her feet with more grace than Hermione thought was entirely fair.

She rasped out the sentence weakly, for the third and what she sincerely hoped was the final time. "Body, magic, and soul… I bind myself… to the House of Black."

It was as though a dam burst inside her mind as the House magics enveloped her, speeding her physical recovery from the blood alchemy exponentially; connecting her to every other Black, the bonds of family bursting into life like a new constellation in the darkness of her mind; judging her strength and her magic and finding her not only acceptable, but welcoming her like the Darkness, claiming her on every level as a true daughter of the House. When it faded, she was still lying on the cold stone of what she now recognized as the altar which was the heart of the Family's power, but the pain of the transformation had entirely vanished, leaving in its wake a lassitude she had only previously associated with her private explorations of sexual release.

She was fairly certain she moaned, because she opened her eyes to Bellatrix's laughter, and Sirius was utterly failing to hide a grin, and not even trying to conceal his inspection of his new 'cousin' in all her naked glory. She felt herself flush, and quickly sat up, pulling her knees to her chest to hide what she could, vaguely aware as she did so that her body didn't quite feel like _hers_ , anymore.

"None of that, ducky," Bellatrix sniggered, extending a hand to help her to her feet. Hermione took it reluctantly as she added, "A true Black never shows shame or embarrassment, especially when we have nothing to be ashamed _of_."

Sirius smirked, and added, presumably in case his earlier leering had not been sufficiently clear: "And you _definitely_ have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thank you, Sirius," Hermione said, as drily as she could manage, resisting the urge to attempt to cover herself with her hands (again). "Is that it? Are we done, now?"

The elder witch smiled. "Almost." She summoned an air of seriousness, all amusement falling from her features as she proclaimed, with all the ceremony that had been lacking in her initial invocation: "I name you, my daughter, Maia Ankaa: phoenix-child, out of time, rising from the ashes of one life, reborn to the next; true scion of the Eternal House, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Daughter of Bellatrix Druella, daughter of Black. Know these names, for they are yours, yours by right of blood and magic. Maia Ankaa, my daughter, be named." She took Hermione's face between her hands and laid a kiss upon her brow, a wave of magic crashing through the girl from the point of contact. "Before the Dark Powers and the stars above, as it is witnessed by Magic, so mote it be."

Sirius echoed her, then grinned. "So," he added, drawing the word out to three times its normal length. "Welcome to the family, Cousin Maia."

She just rolled her eyes, as did Bellatrix. "Can I get dressed now?" she demanded, still exhausted, despite the Family magic having overcome her pain.

Bellatrix nodded regally, conjuring a plain black robe for her and _recalling_ her own clothes, which appeared on her body as though they had never gone. "You are dismissed from the ritual this evening. Sirius, I presume you had no intention to attend?"

"You presume correctly," he scowled.

The elder witch sighed. "Well, renewed vows or no, you are still a member of this family. I trust I can count on you to show your cousin to appropriate accommodations?"

The wizard nodded stiffly. "She can stay at ours."

"Very well. I shall have Narcissa come tomorrow to see Maia suitably attired as befits a Daughter of Black. Maia: dinner, tomorrow, Ancient House, full dress robes. Tell Narcissa, she'll ensure you're turned out presentably." She cocked her head to the side slightly, as though listening to something the others couldn't hear for a moment before adding. "Siri… For the sake of balance, I suppose I do owe you a boon for your actions today. Think about it. Let me know before you go back to Hogwarts, and if it's reasonable, I'll make it happen."

Hermione wished she had a camera, because the look of shock on Sirius' face was stunning. He _gaped_. And then after a moment said, "I don't need to think about it. No more rituals, no more dark magic."

Bellatrix glared, the short-lived cooperation they had managed for the sake of the ritual apparently over. "I said _reasonable,_ Siri."

"What? No, not _you_ – me. Make Mother and Pater Arcturus back off and stop trying to force me to be their perfect little heir. You _know_ I can't do it. Stop trying to recruit me for the Cause. And no more Unforgivables. Either treat me like a real cousin, or stop pretending we're still family."

His elder cousin rolled her eyes. "Of course we're still family. But you have to understand, Sirius, this family has done worse to me than it ever did to you. I have other responsibilities now beyond the family, other loyalties I hold above the House, and I will _not_ allow you to question or insult them."

Hermione glared at the hypocrisy of forcing her to swear loyalty to the House of Black above all others when Bellatrix herself freely admitted that being a Death Eater meant more to her, but neither cousin paid her any attention.

"The truth isn't an insult," the boy insisted stubbornly. "It's crazy, what you're trying to do, what _he's_ trying to do! And it's stupid for Regulus to follow you into that insanity."

Bellatrix very obviously ground her teeth. "Regardless of your opinion on the matter, the war will continue, Sirius. But if you keep your opinions to yourself in front of me and treat _my_ Lord with the same respect you afford any _other_ lord on the _rare_ occasion you come into his presence, I will refrain from punishing you for those opinions, regardless of what you say _outside_ of my presence or his."

Sirius ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "And the rest of it? The recruitment? And Mother?"

"Yes, yes, fine," the elder witch waved an irritated hand, as though clearing the air between them. "I'll convince my Lord you're a lost cause."

"And Mother?" the young wizard demanded.

"You're not seven anymore, Sirius," Bellatrix pointed out, as though he was being particularly slow. "There is no reason whatsoever for me to fight that particular battle for you."

The boy looked incredibly taken aback. "What are you…?"

"Don't be dim, Siri. Hex her fucking face off if that's what it takes to make her back down. Fuck, if you want to do for her like I did for Cygnus, I'll help you cover it up. But I won't do it for you. You're a _grown wizard_ and you're a _Black_. Either you respect her enough to conform to her wishes, despite your… _issues_ with dark magic, or you don't – in which case I see no reason you should not be capable of standing up for yourself."

The boy was dumbstruck: "But – I –"

"Truly, Siri? It's not as though Arcturus would punish you for it – if anything, he'd be pleased to see a bit of active resistance out of you instead of this passive Hufflepuff dragon-shite. Might even confirm you're not as much of a wasted heir as he thinks you are."

"But I don't _want_ to be the Heir!"

"Don't be a bloody idiot. You're sixteen, Sirius. It's time to stop acting like a spoilt child!"

The boy stuttered for a moment before he managed to spit out: " _Fine_."

Bellatrix grinned. "Good. Now, if that's all, we are now _very_ late for dinner. I recommend you two just head back to Grimmauld. I'll deal with Arcturus. Maia, I'll see you tomorrow. Siri… do come visit at some point before the end of the holidays. A Tuesday or Thursday evening would be ideal."

"Why?" he asked warily.

She rolled her eyes. "Because those are the evenings my Lord is guaranteed to be otherwise occupied, and the less time the two of you spend in the same room, the better."

"No, I mean –" Sirius sighed. "You know what, no, whatever. Tuesday next. Just get it over with, whatever it is."

"Oh! I just think we need to have a talk regarding the rights and responsibilities of the Head of House Black. You seem to be under the impression that said position is not to be coveted regardless of one's opinion on current House policies, and that is simply _not_ the case." Sirius gaped at her for the second time in a matter of minutes. "Ta for now, then," she winked, disapparating with a small pop and an even smaller wave.

The two teens stood, staring silently at the spot from which she had disappeared for a long moment before Hermione, in an attempt to both lighten the mood and address the hollowness in her stomach, asked the least-serious question that came to mind: "I don't know about you, but I'm bloody starving. Fancy muggle take-away?"


End file.
